India and the Indian: A Traitor's Testimony, and Séance in Kashmir

From our 'Idea of the Indian' series — verses by Malathi Maitri and Aditi Angiras

Malathi Maithri And Aditi Angiras|Jul 02, 2019, 09:39:29 IST

This essay is part of Firstpost’s ‘India and the Indian’ series, which examines the renewed idea of nationalism in vogue today, and what it means.Read more from this series.***A traitor's testimonyby Malathi MaithriI'm a traitor who speaks in her mother-tongueI'm a traitor who eats beefI'm a traitor who does not worship Hindu GodsI'm a traitor who refuses to return to the old religionI'm a traitor who loves a man of another religionI'm a traitor who refuses to sleep with her husbandI'm a traitor who does not give birth to five childrenI'm a traitor who refuses to kill her loversI'm a traitor who will not chant Bharat Mata ki Jai when a Dalit sister is paraded nakedI'm a traitor who declines to murder a brother in the crusades to save the cowI'm a traitor who will not donate to fund a religious riotI'm a traitor who will not scream for the deportation of those who embrace IslamI'm a traitor who says do not destroy the forestsI'm a traitor who says do not destroy the mountainsI'm a traitor who says do not poison the seasI'm a traitor who says do not loot the riversI'm a traitor who is against nuclear reactorsThis is how I became a traitorThis is how I became anti-Indian— Translated into English by Meena Kandasamy[imgcenter][/imgcenter]Illustration © Namaah K for FirstpostSéance in Kashmir by Aditi Angiras fractured like a plasterfrescoed into the valleyred like corridorsstained with lichensthe nights glow green hope hides its wickerworkin a kanger burninglike shikaras in the skythe water is the vehicleto hunchbacked histories the florist deliversold floating homesto rows of white liliessharing coup and supperwith gentlemen deodar trees the eyes of young boysmove black mirrors to stonesechoes stand silentat street corners to watchtanks turn transparent spilled like a shiverwe wrestle their laughtershuffle photographscaptured unfocused likehalf-remembered dreams ghosts jump into jacketscalibrated memorieslisten in unspoken tongueskohl smudged like a borderon the heads of praying mats— From 'A Map Called Home'

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